I'm Here
by ThePunkyNerd
Summary: Sam is on detox from demon blood (again) and Dean comforts him while in Bobby's panic room.


"Dean… please! Please help me, Dean! I know you're there, just please help me!"

Dean was leaning against a wall in Bobby's basement, standing just outside the panic room.

Cass was trying to offer whatever comfort he could, but even the presence of his angel could not ease him.

Sam was at it again, the demon blood, that is. This was the second time Dean had to watch his little brother go through this, and he couldn't stand to hear his panicked screams and do nothing about it.

But he couldn't stand to leave him either, and he simply stood silently outside the door.

"I… I need some air." Dean finally stammered, stumbling up the stairs, out the door and losing himself among the graveyard of cars in Bobby's auto lot.

He stared up at the sky, leaning against a car for support. "Please… Please, I just need some help," He cried, the pent up emotion streaming down his face. "Please."

He stood out there, and finding no divine support was coming, stumbled back inside.

Cass was gone, as Dean expected. He couldn't offer anymore help when Dean was like this, and must have silently fluttered away somewhere.

"Fuck this shit," Dean muttered aloud. He hesitated outside the door for a moment, and finally unlocked it and stepped through the threshold.

Sam was a sweaty, feverish mess, chained to the small cot, rags stuffed under the chains to keep his wrists from rubbing. "Dean?" He lifted his head groggily, unable to sit up, then lay back into the cot. "Come here to gloat?"

"No, no I didn't, Sammy. I couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't stand you screaming in here alone. I just want to help you. I'll just stay with you until you get better, k?" Dean said, pulling up a chair next to where Sam lay.

"Whatever. This isn't real anyway," Sam mumbled indignantly.

"It's real, don't worry. I'm not a vision, it's really me, and I'm staying here until you get better." Dean said, taking Sam's hand in his.

Sam grunted stubbornly, but gripped Dean's hand. Dean smirked, thinking that maybe trying to calm Sam down would work after all.

Dean just kept watching Sam, who seemed obviously uncomfortable, laying in the same position for hours.

Dean got around to taking off his restraints, let him get up and stretch his tight, sore muscles, while he left to get water.

When he got back, Sam was curled up in a ball on the cot, shivering so violently, Dean thought he might be having a seizure.

Dean hurriedly set down what he'd been carrying and rushed to his side. "Sammy? Sammy, what's wrong?" He sat on the edge of the bed and gripped his little brother's shoulders.

"I'm j-just so cold." Dean laid his hand on his little brother's forehead and pulled it back suddenly.

"Oh god, Sammy, you're burning up." He hurriedly left again, and unknown to him Sam was helplessly whimpering for Dean not to leave.

He returned with a thick quilt and rags. He draped the quilt over Sam, who curled under it gratefully. He laid the rag, which Sam found out had been dipped in cold water.

He gasped, not expecting the sudden cold. "Sorry, should have warned you, it's cold," Dean said simply. They stayed like that for a few precious, quiet minutes, and Sam started to doze off.

Though the peace would not last; he was plagued with every awful thing that happened to him in his dreams. He woke up screaming, shaking and crying.

Dean crawled onto the cot and knelt in front of him, holding him close and trying to ease his terror.

"Sammy, it's okay, it's not real, it's not real." Sam sniffled and buried his head in the crook of his big brother's neck.

"It was the worst… it was so awful, everything, everyone was there. Madison was there, begging me not to kill her, Jess was on the ceiling burning and you… you were saying you never loved me, that I'm a freak no one could ever love me."

Dean stroked his damp hair and continued to whisper any comforting thing he could think of. "Shh, shh. It's okay, Sammy. It's gonna be okay."

Sam still clung to Dean after some time, and eventually whispered "I just wanna lie down."

Dean rose to sit in the chair and said, "want me to leave you be?" "No, no don't leave me Dean, please." Sam pleaded, and

Dean immediately knew it was a bad idea in the first place.

"Don't worry, I won't leave you. I'll never leave you," Dean whispered. "Well, the two of us sure can't fit in this tiny bed." Dean looked up and peeled Sam away from him and snapped his fingers. "I have an idea." He went around to stripping the mattress bare of all the linen and laying it on the steel floor.

He propped the pillow against the wall and patted the blanket he was sitting on.

Sam plopped himself down and propped himself against the wall next to Dean, scooting closer.

"You okay- well, besides the obvious, of course," asked Dean, draping his arm around his little brother. "Better." Sam answered, leaning into Dean.

Eventually Sam's exhaustion and sickness took hold and he all but collapsed onto Dean, who eased him into his lap. He chuckled and brushed his hair away from his innocent, exhausted face.

"Sweet dreams, Sammy." He said, finally letting his own exhaustion overtake him.


End file.
